


High Tea

by ApocalypseThen



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/F, Mass Effect Kink Meme, Role Reversal, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-03
Updated: 2015-09-09
Packaged: 2018-04-18 21:10:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4720571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ApocalypseThen/pseuds/ApocalypseThen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Traynor writes role-reversed fanfiction about herself and Shepard full of tea, mary-sue, and spicy encounters." --- Anon</p><p>Traynor's the badass marine commanding the Normandy. On her ship, you have to know how to make a good cup of tea if you want to survive. She takes the flame-haired communications Specialist under her wing to teach her the dark art of a proper brew. Together they might just stay hydrated, and save the galaxy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tea Is Not Optional

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the anonymous kinkster who provided the pithy summary! 
> 
> This work was inspired by a prompt at the kink meme:  
> http://masseffectkink.livejournal.com/9115.html?thread=43710619#t43710619

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard introduces herself to Commander Traynor in the worst possible way.

“Phew!” exclaimed Traynor as she herded her squad out of the shuttle and into the Normandy's cargo bay. “Good mission, everyone! Nice shooting, Garrus! Good to see you back in action, Vega!”

She sauntered over to the equipment station and unhooked her assault rifle, carrying the heavy weapon as if it weighed no more than a fine porcelain teacup. She laid it on the weapons bench. “Cortez!” she called up to her pilot, who was finishing post-flight checks. “Nice work with the rifle. It felt a lot more steady.”

“Only the best for you, Commander,” he replied from the cockpit. “It looked pretty hairy down there. I'm glad you all got out of there in one piece.”

Traynor shrugged off the compliment. “Well, I couldn't have done it without some awesome piloting.” She headed for the elevator, and her cabin. “Tea in the mess in thirty,” she called out to her squad.

“Sure thing, your majesty,” replied Vega from his corner of the deck, where he was racking his weapons and cracking off his armor. As with every time he called her that, she was secretly gratified. He'd chosen the very nickname she had had at school, where she was by a long way the most popular and successful student, being both academically gifted and excessively athletic. Along with cute as a button.

The elevator stopped at the CIC. Comm Specialist Shepard was waiting for a ride. “Commander!” she said. “Oh. I'll... I'll get the next one.”

“You realise there is only the one elevator, don't you, Specialist?” said Traynor playfully.

“What? Oh. Yes. Yes, Commander.” Shepard stammered. 

She was such an adorable dork, thought Traynor. She couldn't resist having some fun. “So get on board, soldier, don't keep me waiting!”

“Yes, ma'am!” said the redhead, nearly tripping over in her haste to cross the threshold while saluting herself in the forehead with a datapad.

Traynor suppressed a smile and pretended she hadn't noticed the pratfall. In her armor and boots, she stood a good four inches taller and seemed immeasurably broader than the willowy freckled desk-jockey. Her presence dominated the confined space.

“We're having tea in the mess shortly,” she said. “You should join us.”

“Uh...I... thank you ma'am, but, I'm on duty, and, well...” began Shepard. 

“You do drink tea, don't you, Shepard?” demanded Traynor, her arms folded, leaning against the corner of the elevator.

“Actually, ma'am, I'd been hoping to speak to you about that,” began Shepard. “I think maybe I have an allergy or something, I get this rash...” Shepard came to a dead stop just as the elevator did, a blush colouring her cheeks.

Traynor narrowed her eyes and turned to face the younger woman. “A rash, you say? Have you seen the doctor about it?”

“Well, no, I mean, I'm allergic to a lot of things,” replied Shepard, the words tumbling out of her mouth while her forehead grew shiny.

“I don't ask a lot of my crew,” began Traynor, who thought of herself as a tough but fair commander, always ready to listen. But this was a step too far. “But this is a step too far, Specialist. I insist that the crew take tea together once a day. If you're allergic, you can at least drink some hot water and pretend. I know the scones won't be quite as nice without decent tea, but at least you'll experience the camaraderie that goes with a proper tea-break!”

Shepard had been standing up straighter and straighter as this tirade continued. She responded in the only appropriate way. “Yes, ma'am!”

“How do we feel about tea breaks, marine?” inquired Traynor in a stern voice.

“Ooh-rah, ma'am!” came the reply.

Traynor called up her omni-tool and made a quick adjustment. “There. You'll be mother today, Shepard. Bring your A-game. I hope you know which way to pour.” With that, she left the elevator and entered her cabin, leaving the slightly shell-shocked communications specialist standing stiff at attention while the elevator doors closed on her.


	2. Reading the leaves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard and Liara are far too chummy for Traynor's liking.

“Yes, admiral,” replied Traynor, her back straight and her eyes front. “We'll take care of it right away.”

“See that you do, Traynor,” replied Admiral Hackett over the QEC. “We can't afford to lose the initiative in this theater. Hackett out.”

Traynor headed back through the war room to the CIC. She cast her eye over the bantering marines as she waited for the security screen to clear her. Fine specimens, both of them. But lately, her thoughts had been occupied by a rather less combat-ready soldier. Skinny and awkward and utterly _fetching_... there she was.

The communications specialist was bent over her console as usual, gangly elbows flapping as her hands rapidly pecked out commands like a bird going at a pile of corn. She was in her element and it was enchanting. She could make that console do things Traynor had never even heard of, and had been putting her skills to good use.

Right now Shepard was explaining something enthusiastically to Liara, who stood by her side. “Look, there it is again,” Liara exclaimed, just as Traynor approached. She indicated with one hand, but what Traynor mainly noticed was that her other hand had crept to the small of Shepard's back, where it rested lightly.

Traynor made her presence known. “Specialist, Liara,” she greeted them. “Found something interesting?”

Liara was the first to respond, but that hand stayed stubbornly where it was. “You should see this, Commander,” she lilted in her sing-song voice. “Specialist Shepard has uncovered a very interesting pattern in Cerberus transmissions.” Specialist Shepard has very interestingly patterned pants, is what Traynor heard.

“Cerberus!” said Traynor. “Those sons of bitches.” Liara! That _minx_ , is what she meant. Traynor didn't usually curse, despite being a marine recognised widely for her masterful command of the English language as well as a variety of weapons systems, but for both Cerberus and matters of romantic rivalry she made an exception.

“It might be nothing, ma'am,” said Shepard, who clearly lacked the self-confidence that came with leadership and experience.

“I'm sure if it's worth Liara's time, it must be quite important,” said Traynor, keeping her voice light. “As it happens, Admiral Hackett's just ordered me to take out a Cerberus installation. Can you two have a report ready for me in thirty minutes?”

Liara's hand finally withdrew as Shepard turned away from her console. “I think so, ma'am,” she said.

“Liara?” queried Traynor.

“Of course, Commander,” replied the asari. That'll give me enough time to ravish your nubile comm specialist, Traynor heard in the sultry undertone that she was sure Liara was using deliberately. Or it could have been her imagination.

“In my cabin in thirty, then,” said Traynor, who knew better than to let her inner thoughts out in front of the perceptive asari. “Shepard, bring tea for three.”

“Aye-aye, ma'am,” replied Shepard.


	3. Tea for three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard and Liara relate their shocking discovery to Commander Traynor, but have to wait for the tea to brew. The dramatic tension rises dramatically!

Shepard's tea service had improved immeasurably under Traynor's tutelage. There had been great strides to make, it was true. She had thought that the strainer was for distributing sugar lumps!

Even though there was business to take care of, both Shepard and Liara knew better than to get into it before the tea had brewed and been served. It was Traynor's habit to make 'small talk' until then, an opportunity she typically used to get to know her crew better and to show them that she was just as human as they were.

Surprisingly, it was Shepard who opened the conversation. “I didn't know you were a Kepesh-Yakshi player, Commander,” she said with interest, looking over at the pieces that were racked in the display cabinet, many little ship models in two different colours.

“Oh, do you play, Shepard?” Traynor was delighted. A shared interest was exactly the sort of thing that might encourage the timid young marine to relax more around her. She could be awfully intimidating, she knew.

“It's one of my favourites,” said Shepard, unguarded and enthusiastic. “But I've never seen a physical set before. I've only ever played the electronic version.”

“I like handling the pieces,” replied Traynor. “And all that neural feedback is so... impersonal. I play the old-fashioned way.”

“What, I mean, how...?” asked Shepard, eager and fascinated.

“For forfeits,” said Traynor with a grin.

Shepard blushed pinkly, around a number three, thought Traynor. She had been carefully calibrating the Specialist's skin colour against the awkward social situations that always seemed to crop up in her presence. Of course, she might have encouraged some of those awkward moments to present themselves. But she'd never admit that. Number three was the pink associated with mild embarrassment at discovery. Mmm. A good sign.

Liara had been watching this exchange with an increasingly perturbed expression. “Of course, Kepesh-Yakshi is an asari game,” she said, inserting herself into a gap in the conversation with all the subtlety of a charging krogan. “I understand that all of the best players are asari.”

Traynor smiled her superior smile. “Oh, I'll never be a match for some of the matriarchs,” she said. “But I have beaten one or two... _younger_ asari with this set.” She grinned at the memories. “I have to admit... they were _quite_ upset. At first.”

Now it was Liara's turn to look uncomfortable. Clearly the implication had not been lost on her. She avoided Traynor's piercing gaze and squirmed in her seat. Shepard looked on with a slightly confused expression.

The tea was ready, and they got down to business.

“So, Specialist, your report?” demanded Commander Traynor.

Shepard cleared her throat, squeaked like a hamster, blushed, excused herself, cleared her throat again, and began to speak. “We can't decipher most of the Cerberus comm traffic. But with EDI and Liara's help, I found a pattern. It indicates that they have a fast-growing network of instantaneous communications. Statistically, they shouldn't be able to coordinate their movements across so many different systems with this degree of precision by channeling through the relays like everybody else.”

“Instantaneous? You mean like over the QEC?” asked Shepard.

“Yes. But with this many nodes and this growth profile...” Shepard paused and looked up at her. When she was free to discourse on her favourite topic, all of her awkwardness disappeared and she practically glowed with confidence. Traynor felt a small flutter in her chest. “It can't be QEC as we know it, Commander. It would bankrupt them.”

“How fast is this network spreading?” she asked.

“Exponentially,” said Liara with dramatic emphasis. “Exponentially fast.”

Traynor thought for a moment. “So it's what, an organic process?”

“We thought so too, Commander,” said Shepard. “Only one thing fits. It must be indoctrination.”


	4. Tea as a metaphor for space-chess as a metaphor for war as a metaphor for...um

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Traynor and Shepard find new ways to communicate.

“So, Shepard, are we going to have that game of Kepesh-Yakshi?” asked Traynor a few minutes before the end of shift. As in any engagement, she had occupied the high ground and was looking down over the railing from the heights of the galaxy map.

The comm specialist looked up from her console. “I... I was kind of hoping you'd ask,” she replied. A faint flush came to her cheeks. Traynor let her half her mouth smile quirkily. “I mean, since I saw the set you have.” The flush pinkened to a blush. “The pieces. I'd like to try playing with real pieces.”

“And real consequences, too?” Traynor pressed her advantage home relentlessly.

“Oh, I don't plan to lose, Commander,” Shepard replied with a grin of her own, her freckles rearranging themselves around her dimples in a pattern that Traynor found _quite_ agreeable.

“That's the spirit, Shepard,” Traynor said encouragingly. “See you upstairs in thirty, then.” She was so pleased that Shepard was beginning to come out of her shell. She had been timid and jumpy for such a long time. Now she was finally realising that the rest of the crew respected and admired her for her dedication and skill, even if she couldn't take down a platoon of husks with her bare hands. 

Shepard even brought the tea up without being asked. She arranged the accoutrements like a weapons officer laying out ordnance, and brewed up with a facility and expertise that impressed Traynor. Was this the same woman who, just weeks ago, had put the milk in _after_ the tea? She might even be able to tell Ceylon from Assam by now.

Traynor had replaced her uniform top with a tight N7 tank-top that showed off her beautifully defined, powerful shoulders, her washboard stomach and her pert, well-dimensioned rack. No support necessary, but nowhere to hide if her nipples should decide to make a bid for freedom, either.

Shepard meanwhile, had been more subtle, but no less effective in her preparations. She had just tied back her flame-red mane into a scruffy ponytail, so that Traynor could gaze upon hitherto unseen expanses of her skin, the folds behind her ears, the back of her neck where hair gave way to soft translucent down and the freckles shaded in. She could stare at that for hours. 

Traynor tore her eyes away from the tea preparations and the lithe young marine who was making them. She started racking up the pieces on the fold-out board. She sat, and waited for Shepard to bring her a steaming cup and saucer, just a drop of milk, the way she liked it. She could see that Shepard was resisting asking about the forfeit system. It bode well for her play style, if she was able to rein in her curiosity. She might make a decent opponent.

Traynor waited until Shepard had taken a seat opposite her before taking a sip of tea that was _not at all bad_. “It works like this,” she said without preamble. She was already evaluating Shepard, her senses heightened and alert to every nuance, much as they would have to be throughout the game. Shepard was no doubt doing the same to her, if she was any good. “We each write down a forfeit that we're willing to perform, and seal it. The worse it is, the more motivated we are to win.”

As with the rest of the rules, it was deceptively simple but practically full of nuance. You might not get a rematch with a player if your forfeit was too tame, for example. But it also reflected the amount of respect you had for your opponent. You wouldn't risk too heavy a penalty against a strong foe.

Kepesh-Yakshi at its core was a relatively straightforward space-battle simulation. What made it interesting was the incomplete information that the players had about the disposition of opposing forces. That introduced an element of bluff. The best players could convince you, using their visible moves, that their dreadnought and its escorts were hiding just _there_ while their frigates popped up inside your defenses and ravaged your formations. It was, of course, extremely popular with naval types, as the core of any successful campaign was _information_. 

That made it orders of magnitude more interesting than chess, but it still lacked any random element. It was pure skill on both a technical and psychological level. Traynor knew a thing or two about the realities of space warfare, but that didn't stop her appreciating the elegant simplicity of the rules and the emergent complexity of the gameplay.

Traynor could see the wheels spinning in Shepard's head and could practically hear her heart beating faster. She was having trouble deciding how serious her Commander would expect her to be. Traynor helped her out. “For example, I might write down that if I lose, I'll have to say something nice about my Comm Specialist at least once a day from now on,” she said.

Shepard tilted her head to one side, looking relieved and amused. “That doesn't sound too hard.”

“Oh, it would be,” said Traynor. “I find it terribly difficult to praise women who are better-looking than me.”

Shepard blushed, but didn't stop smiling. “I'm not... oh,” she said. “OK. I can think of something.” She made a quick note.

“Then let's play,” said Traynor, flexing her shoulders and stretching her arms out to the side, noting as she did so that Shepard's eyes were drawn to not just her impressive muscles.

Shepard proved to be a capable and devious opponent. Traynor had seen some of the same tactics before, but rarely executed with such aptitude. She picked up a few new tricks. She herself was more willing to take risks, however, and to make sacrifices. It was the primary weakness she identified in her opponent's style: Shepard left no ship behind. If it wasn't an elaborate, drawn-out bluff, it was a frailty she could exploit.

But on the other hand, did she really want to show the fresh-faced young woman in front of her just how ruthlessly she could dominate her? Traynor's shoulders rippled with controlled power as she fought the temptation to crush Shepard utterly. She'd much rather beat her _gently_. In a way that kept her coming back for more. She held back from the noble sacrifice she had been about to make, and instead made a blocking move that would serve her well in numerous scenarios.

She made eye contact with Shepard, who held her gaze with a knowing expression. Oh my, thought Traynor, it was a bluff all along. She's _much_ better than me at this. But that means...

She _likes_ me.

If she figured out that I was holding back because I like her... 

And she was bluffing from the beginning...

She was tempting me _all along_...

And _hoping_ I'd hold back...

Like she _wanted_ me to tell her...

Because she _likes me back_.

I am _so_ hot for her right now.

Traynor smiled hugely even though, on very next move, Shepard sacrificed her dreadnought in exchange for a conclusive advantage in position and effectiveness.

Shepard took a long time to look up from the board, however, her teacup poised half-way to her mouth. Where she should have been triumphant, she was frowning, her mouth moving silently as she pored over the disposition of the pieces.

“Miss something, Shepard?” asked Traynor. The position looked pretty clear to her.

Suddenly Shepard plonked down her teacup, rattling the saucer. She jerked to her feet, a little unsteadily after more than an hour spent hunched over the board. “I have to see Liara right away!” she exclaimed, her face pale. “Sorry, ma'am, it's important!” 

And before Traynor could protest, she had stormed out of the cabin. Traynor sat there, a little shocked, somewhat disappointed, for a few moments after Shepard had left. But not hurt. She was mature enough in the ways of women and geeks to understand that either Shepard was afraid of getting what she wanted, especially when the packaging was so enticing, or that she'd just had some kind of eureka moment. 

She fetched her uniform jacket and went to follow Shepard down to the crew deck. On her way out she peeked at the forfeit that Shepard had written down. Hmmm. Ironic. It was the same as the one she'd written down herself. But perhaps it was to be expected. The whole crew knew at least one thing about Shepard, even if they didn't know her very well. And amusingly, it was a forfeit that could be quite embarrassing for both of them.

“The Commander will teach me to dance.”

Traynor grinned and went to check on her most excellent nerds.


	5. Too excited for tea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Comm Specialist Shepard shows off her brains.

She found them locked in an awkward position over the console in Liara's quarters, arguing hotly.

“I am sure I will be quicker, it is after all my system,” said Liara, her hands reaching for the keys.

Shepard was trying to physically block Liara, engaging her shoulder and hip to keep her away. “I know just what I'm looking for, I know you have it in here!” Traynor noted with approval that Shepard, despite being slight, was more than a match for Liara. Being tied to a console all day didn't mean she'd neglected to stay in minimal shape.

On the other hand, if Liara was going to start glowing blue and waving her hands around, maybe she'd better intervene.

“Liara!” said Traynor. “Stand down. Let her into your system. I think she's had an idea.”

Liara, clearly unhappy, keyed in the access codes to her databases and came over to complain. “Commander! This is an unacceptable security risk.”

“Do you trust me, Liara?” asked Traynor. 

Liara had learned to pout from a manual of human expressions, and had just been waiting for a chance to try it out, Traynor thought. Well, she had the lips to pull it off. “Yes.”

“And I trust Shepard. So let her work,” Traynor lowered her voice to a whisper, but Shepard was oblivious, muttering to herself. Traynor was transfixed. There was nothing like watching a geek consumed by an idea. It reminded her of her own single-minded focus on the battlefield, and that always turned out well.

They didn't have to wait for long. Shepard looked up from the console, looked directly into Traynor's eyes. There was a fierce intensity to her gaze, an immense pride behind it, a red flush to her cheeks and a damp haze on her forehead. Traynor, who was normally the coolest and most level-headed person in any given room, found herself susceptible to that gaze, her heart thumping, her stomach clenching and a heat spreading through her as her body geared up to either fight or... fight. She'd never had a need for the other one.

“Commander,” said Shepard. “I think I have something we can use against Cerberus.”

Traynor folded her arms and took control of the situation again. “Right, then. Liara, get the kettle boiling. Something tells me this will take a while.”

“So, each node represents an indoctrinated Cerberus agent?” Traynor was quick to grasp the details of Shepard's impromptu lecture. She'd always been bright, that way. Liara was struggling a little as the details of QEC architectures were foreign to her.

“Yes, Commander,” replied Shepard, who'd been sketching diagrams in a holo display. “And when the network gets dense enough, there's a... phase transition. Like water freezing. If we can spoof enough nodes... I think.” Shepard paused. “I know we can slow them down. Confuse them. At least.”

Traynor had been listening to Shepard talk for nearly an hour and every time she said the word 'spoof' she felt a butterfly in her stomach. Her delivery was delightfully cute, like she'd been tapped in the gut in the middle of saying 'spoon'. Fortunately Traynor was able to think clearly even in stressful situations.

“How did you come up with this, Shepard?” asked Liara. “Isn't it something our scientists will have thought of already?”

Shepard smiled, first at Liara, then at Traynor, letting her gaze linger, and she got that warm feeling again. Confident science-girl is _on fire_ , thought Traynor. “There aren't that many cutting-edge QEC researchers who can bluff at Kepesh-Yakshi,” said Shepard.

Liara looked first at Traynor, then at Shepard, her eyes narrowing. “So you're going to sp _oof_ ,” Traynor said, with extra _oof_ , “the Cerberus network by bluffing on a grand scale?”

“That's right, Commander,” replied Shepard, picking up on the new game. “Too much instantaneous communication can lead to weird effects. In theory. I mean, I'd try this in a lab first. I'd spoof with timing errors that would propagate across the network chaotically, keeping it right at the transition. Unstable and unreliable. And _spoofed_.”

Traynor was convinced, but Liara had objections, and said 'spoof' as if she was describing a delicate flower. As Shepard shot her down, deconstructing her arguments to the point that it felt like she was as much commenting on Liara's personal habits as her logic, Traynor began to understand the relationship between them. Shepard and Liara's default setting was to bicker like sisters. It was a relief.

“Enough!” said Traynor. “Shepard, prepare a quick report for Admiral Hackett. If it's as brilliant as you think, his people will be able to confirm it and fill in the details.”

“Yes, ma'am,” replied Shepard.

“And report to my cabin when you're done, Specialist,” said Traynor, managing to keep her voice free of innuendo only because of her super-human reservoir of self-control. Although her eyes may have given something away.


	6. High Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not exactly a dancing lesson.

“You may wonder what the point is,” said Traynor, leading Shepard across the room, stalking in fact, “of getting dressed up in satin and lace,” her phrases timed to the rhythm of the music, “when there's no one here to see but you and me,” turning abruptly at the coffee table and giving Shepard a nudge in the right direction, “but of course the point is,” she continued, pacing back across the cabin, “you can see me, and I can see you.” 

Traynor turned to face Shepard as the music paused, her biceps swelling as she pulled Shepard in close. Slightly off-balance, Shepard impacted on her hard body with an _oof_ , their noses all but colliding. She just had time to smile before the music started again and Traynor spun them to the left and began to shimmy across the cabin, leading Shepard in the basic steps, making her move her body in time with the beat. 

It had taken some persuading to get Shepard out of her uniform and into the slinky green dress. But once Traynor revealed that she'd had EDI run it up specially, Shepard did her blushing, secretly flattered thing, just for the record, and stripped off her uniform double quick.

Her lacy black undies belied her much-protested innocence. Traynor, meanwhile, had been waiting for Shepard to finish off her report in her tightest black jeans and a shiny sleeveless top that showed off her soldier's physique. 

“Is this,” asked Shepard, keeping hold of Traynor's hands but stepping back to try out a butt wiggle, “dancing? I mean,” she continued, moving their joined hands up in the air for a ceiling grab, bringing them closer again, “it's not like what goes on in the,” she let go of a hand, “nightclubs I've been to,” and wrapped herself in Traynor's arm, putting her back up against the Commander's heat, feeling her breath on the back of her neck.

“No,” replied Traynor, “you're right,” sliding her other arm around Shepard's waist, “this is a bit more like,” spinning her around suddenly, hands rustling on the green satin, her mouth an inch from Shepard's nose, “foreplay,” and she pushed Shepard away, stepping back at the same time, but held on to one hand.

Shepard let herself swing at the end of Traynor's arm. “In that case,” she said, letting momentum carry her all the way around, “I think I'm not,” reversing her grip and coming around to put her back to Traynor's, “half bad at it,” sliding her hands down behind her to find powerful hips, “wouldn't you agree?” Shepard bent her knees gently and rubbed her back down Traynor's spine, leading with one shoulder.

“I believe,” said Traynor, reaching and turning at the same time, “that you may be,” curling one arm around Shepard's narrow waist, “outmatched,” lifting her bodily in the air, “this time,” sweeping her around so that her feet didn't touch the ground, “but of course,” Shepard ended up wrapped around Traynor's waist, feet dangling in the air, supported by strong arms on her buttocks, “feel free to keep playing.”

Shepard put her arms around Traynor's neck and smiled a delighted, enigmatic smile, “I think,” she said, “there's more than one way,” she pulled herself in close to whisper in Traynor's ear, “to win this game,” and she licked the rim of Traynor's ear from the lobe upwards.

Traynor jerked and tightened her grip on Shepard's tight little butt, letting her fingers dig a little deeper through the thin green fabric that had bunched up around her hips. Shepard put her head back and whimpered. Traynor dropped her a few inches suddenly, letting her slide down the front of her body before catching her again in a grip around the waist, leaning back to stop her feet hitting the ground.

Compressing her with her powerful arms, Traynor brought Shepard to the edge of breathlessness. Shepard struggled, trying to push off her, but her arms were useless at such close range. Traynor relaxed her grip and let Shepard's feet hit the ground, and as she took a deep breath, covered her mouth with her own.

The skinny redhead had a taste unlike anything Traynor could have imagined, peppery, tart, and utterly addictive. She had a mobile, combative tongue that darted and teased. From her mouth Traynor moved down to her neck, where the flavours intensified, and Shepard was free to be vocal, although actual words seemed to be too complicated for her, a gasp turning into a keening whimper as Traynor molested the freckles in the hollow of her neck with teeth and tongue.

Traynor understood, however, and clamped her lips down to form a seal. Shepard's eyelids fluttered as her legs twitched, her arms sought purchase, trying to escape her predicament, but she was held firmly and could do nothing to prevent Traynor from extracting a long, involuntary, frenzied cry from her. 

When she was released Shepard countered by clamping her lips over Traynor's, a fervor in her movements, her hands at the back of Traynor's head, fingers deep in her hair, pulling them together as if she wanted to devour her utterly. Her soft tongue leading Traynor on a merry dance.

When the kiss broke, Traynor honestly couldn't say who had come out on top. She could see Shepard coming to the same conclusion. Hesitating for just a moment, Traynor realised she was staring into Shepard's green eyes with an intimidating ferocity, her face otherwise blank, but also that Shepard was wearing an expression that you could call both wary, and hungry. 

“This...” started Traynor, her mouth dry despite the long kiss. “This is it, isn't it?” she asked. “I'll never want anyone else.” It felt true.

“You'll never need anyone else,” replied Shepard, in a level voice just loud enough for her to hear across the two inches that separated them.

Shepard's smile was delicate and small, but Traynor understood the depth of the joy behind it, and closed her eyes and parted her lips, waiting for her last lover to give her her first kiss.


	7. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile, back in the real world...

Samantha was just about to go off duty and catch a ride down to the mess hall. There was a really vast, unknowable quantity of tea with her name on it waiting down there to be brewed.

But for some reason EDI chose just then to engage her in a long conversation about QEC protocols. Despite being a quick learner, EDI wasn't omniscient, nor that much smarter than a human. Just faster, stronger and sexier than most, in Samantha's opinion.

Then the conversation took a turn for the worse. “Specialist Traynor,” said EDI, “may I ask you a personal question?”

“Go on,” replied Samantha, warily. Commander Shepard had encouraged them all to help EDI out with her people skills, but the topics could sometimes be... interesting.

“Do all humans entertain fantasies about being in charge?” she asked in an innocent tone.

Samantha tried her best. “I think everybody second-guesses other people's decisions, EDI,” she came up with.

EDI was not placated. “That is not what I meant, Samantha. I have noticed that you show signs of arousal when conveying orders to your subordinates,” said EDI. “Especially the female ones.”

“Yesthankyoucouldyoupleasekeepyourvoicedown,” Samantha blurted out, grabbing on to her console for support.

But EDI continued anyway. “And in this scenario that I found in the encrypted secret archive on your omni-tool, where Shepard is your subordinate, and...”

“Oh! Ha-ha!” Samantha interrupted in her outside voice. “I just remembered, I forgot to... oh god. There isn't anywhere to run, is there?”

“I am present in all of the Normandy's systems, Specialist,” said EDI, ominously. “But I have made you uncomfortable. Perhaps we could continue this conversation at a later time,” she said, although she didn't phrase it like a question.

Samantha grasped at the opportunity like a drowning sailor. “Yes! OK! Later!” She strode hastily over to the elevator, which dinged open just a second later. Thank god. She could escape.

But Shepard was leaning on the back wall of the elevator, her arms spread out from her tight black vest to grasp the railing, their peachy fuzz of down refracting the lights and making her biceps look even bigger.

Samantha, already deep in a spiral of embarrassment and about to give herself a thorough talking-to, was momentarily speechless.

Shepard had her line ready, but let the moment stretch out first, her smirk conveying a message that made Samantha's stomach flip and churn. When she spoke, it was a little slower than her natural rhythm, and it was undoubtedly the most exciting thing that Samantha had ever heard: “Well, get on board, soldier, don't keep me waiting. It's tea-time.”


End file.
